A Hardened Warrior

by McQueen, Hildie

  “I will.” Merida hitched her chin. She’d purposely brought the horse as an excuse to escape endless hours sitting about stitching, reading or whatever mundane tasks women were often expected to fill their days with.

  Duin had always been the balm to long days indoors, which never gave her a true sense of accomplishment. Men had wars, battles, crafts and other activities that gave them purpose. In Merida’s opinion, women were expected to do nothing of great value for the clan.

  The sun was setting as they dismounted. Her mother, Paige and Elsa, her companion, were assisted from the wagon. Trunks were carried away by lads and maids guided the visitors to the front doorway.

  Meanwhile, Merida remained with Duin. She followed behind stable lads and guards, who didn’t trust their steeds to other’s care and tugged her horse toward the stables.

  Once she managed to coax Duin into a stall, she removed the saddle, brushed him down and filled a bucket with fresh oats, another with water. Making eye contact with the horse, she ran a hand down the center of his head and pressed her cheek to his. “Thank you for coming with me,” she whispered. “Be a dear and do not fret. I will fetch ye first thing and take ye out.”

  She dug into a satchel that hung at her waist and pulled out a carrot. “Here ye go.”

  The animal sniffed it and deemed it worthy, taking delicate bites that never ceased to amuse Merida. For such a huge war beast, he was quite mild when it came to eating.

  Merida lingered as the guards left, one by one, until finally leaving her alone. Although she knew her mother would be cross if she didn’t get back to the keep soon, Merida lingered, pulling a blanket from the stall and throwing it over Duin’s back. It was warm enough that he didn’t need it, but the night would bring a chill and the animal had traveled a long distance. Besides, she liked to pamper it.

  “Have a good night’s rest, Duin,” she told the horse who gave her a bored look.

  “Does yer horse ever reply?”

  Merida whipped around and lost her breath. It was Caylen Mackenzie, one of the laird’s sons. Of all the worst luck, this one was quite a rogue.

  He gave her a bemused look and then allowed his gaze to roam down her body. “Are ye McLeod’s lass?”

  “Aye, his daughter, Merida,” she replied, lifting her chin. “Ye are Caylen, the Mackenzie’s second son.”

  He nodded and studied Duin. “Tis a large horse for a wee lass.” He reached to touch Duin, but upon the animal’s obvious displeasure, he pulled back. “A rowdy one at that.”

  She’d attended Caylen’s wedding ceremony two years earlier. He’d been married to a Robertson. A young, plain girl, who’d sniffed through the entire ceremony. At the time, she’d felt bad for both as they went through the ritual of an arranged marriage that would benefit their clans in one way or another.

  “How is yer wife, Brenna?”

  Caylen let out a noise, almost like the one Duin made when displeased. “She remains at her parents’ keep for the most part.”

  “Do ye regret marrying?” Merida caught herself. “I apologize, tis just that my father seeks to find me a husband and I wish to know what it’s like to…”

  He met her gaze with flat, blue eyes. “To marry someone ye barely know?” He shrugged. “Tis what ye would expect. Ye get to know one another, see if ye suit. If ye do, then it’s good. If ye do not, then one can seek pleasure elsewhere.” With each word, he moved closer until Merida was pressed against the stall door.

  “I… see,” she replied pushing him back. “I best see about greeting yer da with my parents.”

  Someone cleared their throat and Caylen turned away slowly. Merida tried to look around him as he lifted a hand in greeting, but he was much too tall and broad in the shoulders.

  Unable to see whom it was that had entered, Merida decided it was best to take the opportunity and leave. She slipped sideways and out the stables. Skirts lifted, she raced to the keep to ensure her parents would not be too cross by her absence.

  “There ye are. I was about to send a guard to hunt for ye.” Her mother regarded her from head to toe. “Honestly, Merida, how did yer hair become such a mess in a short time?”

  The red waves rarely remained tamed unless they were braided painfully tight. Using both hands, she attempted to smooth the front of her hair down. “There, let us go find Father.”

  Arm in arm, Merida and her mother crossed the threshold into the great hall behind Laird McLeod and waited to be greeted.

  Chapter Five

  The ride to Mackenzie Keep took an entire day and part of the next. Tristan shifted atop his horse, his body not quite yet fit enough for the long ride. Unlike him, used to long treks, his steed kept a steady pace that made it hard to avoid being continuously jostled.

  “Would ye like for us to stop?” Ruari came alongside, concern etched on his face.

  “Nay,” Tristan snapped, his gaze stubbornly ahead.

  Stopping more than twice would make the trip longer and extend the discomfort, so he focused on the task ahead.

  The Mackenzie had some sort of agenda that would eventually benefit the man in some way. The strong clan did not need more lands or warriors. However, gaining either would bring more power, something Laird Mackenzie seemed to treasure.

  As Tristan’s party continued, a family traveling along the same road blocked their progress. The trudge of a donkey pulling a ragged cart in which a woman and two children rode was excruciatingly slow. A man walked alongside the animal, his hand on its back as if coaxing the tired animal.

  “Move to the side!” Tristan called out and one of the children began to cry.

  The man turned to him. “There isn’t room, sir.”

  “Make room,” Tristan replied.

  Somehow, the man managed to move the cart and donkey enough to the side that Tristan and his party could pass. The older child watched them with wide eyes, while the younger cowered into its mother’s chest.

  The man lifted his gaze to Tristan and shook his head, but didn’t utter a word at noting the heavily-armed man and contingent of guards.

  Tristan and his party continued past and upon hearing voices, he turned to see one of the guards had dismounted and helped to move the wagon as its wheels had caught in tree roots.

  He gritted his teeth. “We do not have time for that.”

  “Before, ye would have been the one to remain behind and offer assistance,” Ruari said when he huffed in annoyance. “We could have managed our way around them.”

  He searched inside himself in an attempt to find emotion, but only emptiness filled him. There was a time that many things mattered to him, but now, everything was pointless. No use in helping others, when more would take their place. Caring for a friend or lover only meant they’d either betray you or be killed. He’d lost his father and many a friend in the clan wars and now, in all probability, his clan would have to sacrifice more because power-hungry Laird Mackenzie willed it.

  “Perhaps I would have, but what good will it do? Wherever that family is headed will only bring them more misery. Some people have such a lot in life.”

  Tristan motioned forward. “We enter Mackenzie lands.”

  Ruari looked over his shoulder and held up a fist to get the guards’ attention. “Keep vigilant, do not draw yer swords for any reason.”

  An hour later, they were allowed passage past towering gates into a massive courtyard.

  *

  Tristan usually avoided attending politically motivated gatherings and not wishing to be part of the any kind of formal procession, he remained in the courtyard with the guards.

  In his opinion, formal entrances were best left to the pompous. On this day, he would not enter and garner a formal welcome from the laird.

  Whatever the Mackenzie had to say, he would do so after last meal.

  He walked into the stables and upon seeing a man speaking with a woman, cleared his throat.

  It was Caylen Mackenzie, whose face lit up at recognizing Tristan. The m
an didn’t say anything else to the woman, choosing to walk back outside with him.

  “What brings ye?” Caylen asked after greeting him. He glanced over his shoulder toward the stables. “To interrupt a rather interesting exchange?”

  Caylen’s roguish reputation was well earned, and he seemed to do his best to keep it intact.

  “Yer father’s invite.” Tristan froze, looking across the way to where McLeod guards gathered. Standing near the stables, his own guardsmen stood as still as statues, also observing. The tension grew when the McLeod guards noticed them.

  “There will not be any fighting within our walls,” Caylen warned and stalked across the yard to repeat the warning loudly so all the guards could hear.

  After a few moments, the men relaxed and began discussing where they’d set up camp, the whole while keeping their eyes on the other group.

  Ruari motioned to the far side of the yard, near the stables. “I’ve spoken with the stable master. He’s got room for us. We’ll have shelter from the wind and rain.”

  After a few moments of exchanging annoyed looks with the McLeods, Tristan and his guardsmen carried their bags to the stables and set upon claiming cots.

  Unable to prolong it any longer, Tristan went to the front entrance of the home and considered how to enter without making himself too noticeable. It was impossible, of course, given his size. He towered over most men and thanks to the cook’s constant insistence that he eat at all hours, Tristan had regained most of his weight.

  Upon noticing a side entrance that seemed to allow one into the main house, Tristan turned away from the main entrance and went around a small garden to go in through the narrow door. Once inside, he walked down a long corridor.

  There was much activity in the kitchens as he walked by, so he was not noticed as he proceeded toward the sounds in the great room.

  Suddenly, someone ran into him from behind. By the light exclamation, he knew it was a woman. Surely someone coming from the kitchens had not expected him to be there. He flattened against the wall to allow whoever it was passage.

  “Ye? Ye are alive.”

  The voice was familiar, melodic. Immediately, he looked to see who it was. The Fae from his dreams studied him intently with her eyes wide and her lips parted. Almost as if she expected him to vanish at any second, she reached out slowly with a finger and poked him in the chest.

  Unable to formulate what to say, he remained silent, studying her. With a riot of dark red curls that had escaped its pinnings, bright blue eyes and pink lips, she was a most beautiful creature. If not for the fact he held back, he too wanted to reach out and touch her to ensure she wasn’t a figment of his imagination.

  “Ye were very ill. I didn’t think ye’d survive,” she said, this time pressing a hand onto his forearm. “How do ye fare?”

  Tristan blinked. “I am well recovered. I am alive because ye and yer husband did what ye could to save me.”

  For a moment, she frowned at his words and then shrugged and her lips curved. “I am glad. Ye must be very strong to have healed so well.”

  “I am still not as strong as before,” he replied, knowing that despite gaining weight, he was still not as she had seen him.

  “Battles do little good. I am thankful there is a truce now.”

  “Aye,” Tristan replied, not quite agreeing, but deciding it was best not to discuss such things with a woman. “Thank ye.”

  “What is yer name?” she asked.

  There was bustling from the direction of the kitchen and several maids hurried toward them with heavily-laden trays. “Hot food!” one announced the obvious.

  The red-haired beauty gave him one last smile and hurried away.

  He waited for the women with trays to move past and then followed them to the great room. He was more interested now in finding out who the beauty’s husband was and whether or not the man deserved such a treasure. In his opinion, any man would be lacking, but he hoped at least she was well treated. From what he remembered, the man had sounded older. It was possible she’d been married off to an established man for her clan’s gain.

  Upon spotting Laird McLeod, all thought of the woman left and, instead, anger surged that his own father could not be present because of that man’s son.

  Somehow, his cousin had managed to find a table where they’d sit along a back wall. Tristan hurried there, the entire time scanning the room for a specific man. Although they’d been warned against any type of aggression within the Mackenzie walls, nothing would stop him from killing Ethan McLeod if he was present.

  “I do not see him here,” Ruari said, knowing who Tristan sought. “If he is here, the bastard remains hidden.”

  Food was placed in front of him, but Tristan had little appetite, his aching body protesting after the long travel. However, he would eat his fill because it was necessary.

  Laird Mackenzie sat upon the high board. With him sat Lady Mackenzie, three sons, which included Caylen, and a woman Tristan did not know. Two men also sat at the high board, probably advisors. The laird had two daughters, both not yet marrying age and they were not present.

  Once Tristan began to eat, he relaxed somewhat although it was impossible to let his guard down. Not only were the McLeods in the same room, but there was also the matter of what, exactly, the Mackenzie had in mind.

  Everyone lingered after the meal. For what seemed like endless hours, the people continued walking up to the high board and taking the laird’s attention for whatever reason they considered important.

  Tristan huffed out with exasperation and looked for Ruari, who’d gone out for fresh air.

  Deciding it was best to seek out his own guards, he made his way to the front entrance.

  Outside, the air was cold. Spring was not in full bloom yet and the winter wind was slow to depart. He’d left his heavier tartan with his other things where he’d be sleeping, so he headed there.

  Lanterns lit the way and although it was dark, he could see well enough. On his guard in case of any McLeod decided he should join his father, Tristan maintained high vigil.

  The side room to the stables smelled of hay and horse, but was otherwise warm and suitable for sleeping.

  “Stop it! I will not stand for yer acting in such a manner,” a female voice rang out from a nearby stall. “Duin, I mean it.”

  If the woman was having a tryst, she didn’t sound pleased in the least. “Ouch,” she exclaimed. “Be still.”

  Curious at such a strange conversation and not hearing a man’s voice, he opened the door to where the horses were kept and peered in.

  “Duin, ye are hateful at times. Poor Fergus will not feed ye after the nip to his hand.”

  Whoever it was spoke to a horse. The softness of her voice immediately reminded him of the lass who cared for him when he’d been deathly injured. “Merida?”

  There was a gasp. A pair of hands appeared at a stall door followed by red hair and, lastly, blue eyes. “Oh, it is ye again.” Her brows lowered in a frown. “How do ye know my name?”

  “I heard yer husband say it when I was injured.”

  “Ah.” She shook her head. “He is not…”

  “Lady Merida,” the stable master said as he entered. He looked to Tristan and then to Merida. “I would have looked after Duin. His spitefulness will not dissuade me.”

  Merida laughed. “He is a spiteful creature.”

  Just then, a round woman entered the stables, cheeks flushed. “Tis a long time since I have seen ye, lass.” She went to Merida and hugged her. “Fergus tells me ye’re not married yet.”

  Fergus was obviously the stable master and the woman who’d entered his wife.

  The woman looked to Tristan. “Well, I’ll be, here is a suitable husband.”

  “No,” Merida began. “He is not to be my husband, Anne, he is…”

  “Nonsense,” the woman interrupted. “I sense it. Ye two will be husband and wife.” She wagged a finger. “Mark my words.”

  With a firm nod a
s if settling things, she turned to her husband. “Come and eat, Fergus. Let these young two people be alone to discuss things.”

  “Older people and their sensing of things,” Merida said, her cheeks a bright red.

  Tristan nodded. “Besides, ye are already married, are ye not?”

  A slight frown marred her brow. “Ye are referring to Grier, the man in whose cottage ye were. He is not my husband. Grier is a monk, a healer.”

  There was a light twinge in his chest. Relief perhaps? Of course, there was absolutely no reason for him to feel any sort of reaction at the information.

  “And ye?” Merida asked, her gaze pinning him. “Are ye betrothed or married?”

  “No reason for it. I am in the middle of clan battles and have no use for a woman in my life at the moment.”

  “Women are not some sort of tool to be used.” Merida’s upper lip curled in distaste. “If that is how ye feel, it’s no wonder ye are alone.”

  Not that he needed to explain, so he shrugged. “A distraction. An inconvenience then.”

  Her lips parted and her eyes narrowed. “Is that what I was when I found ye almost dead and helped drag ye to Grier’s cottage then?”

  “I…no, of course not.”

  “Hmmm,” she murmured, then turned to the horse. “I know yer problem, Duin. Ye are of the male species. A bother, every single one of ye.” Merida gave Tristan one more disapproving look then turned on her heel and hurried away.

  Tristan waited a few beats, enjoying the silence of the stables. It was probably the only time he’d have some quiet.

  Duin, Merida’s horse, watched him with a wary gaze of an animal that didn’t trust easily. “I will not touch ye.” Tristan felt silly speaking to the animal but, if he were to be truthful, he often spoke to his own.

  Hopefully, whatever the Mackenzie wanted could easily be done and they could leave. Tristan let out a long sigh and walked back into the adjoining room to get his tartan. Once it was over his shoulder, he took his time walking back to the house.

  “There ye are. The Mackenzie has requested ye come to a room over there.” Ruari pointed to a set of doors on the far side of the great room. “I did not see who else went in, but not many, I can tell ye that.”